


Resist or Serve

by caras_galadhon (Galadriel)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Aliens, Apocrypha (3x16), Community: xf_pornbattle, Dark, Dubious Consent, Infection, Other, Piper Maru (3x15), Possession, Purity (The X-Files), Season/Series 03, UFOs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-22
Updated: 2008-09-22
Packaged: 2017-11-08 18:18:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/pseuds/caras_galadhon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Possession is a slippery thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resist or Serve

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Sept. 2008 [](http://xf-pornbattle.livejournal.com/profile)[**xf_pornbattle**](http://xf-pornbattle.livejournal.com/), using the prompts "slippery," "pure" and "Ten Thirteen." Originally posted [in the thread available here](http://xf-pornbattle.livejournal.com/3435.html?thread=288107#t288107).

This host is different. It knows things, craves things the inhabitant remembers but distantly, desires and ambitions left behind more than an aeon ago, before the lower order animals had even dreamed of meiosis, before one cell became two, two became four, and four became legs.

This host knows of the inhabitant, if only faintly; knows that danger lurks in oily, coiling black ink, and that knowledge surprises the inhabitant, makes it recoil ever so briefly in the process of possession, just as its new host recoils in turn. Possession is a slippery thing, a vulnerable time, and for a moment it falters, considering a slow slither down the bathroom drain to seek out another host, one whose mind bends a bit easier, one lacking in the maze of corners and false exits that this one is rife with.

But the inhabitant, caught in half-habitation, poised between possession and passing, is startled again at the strange curl of something it can feel from its would-be host's stomach. It's not fear, precisely, but something else, something to do with the sudden rush and flow of blood, an astonishing tightening and lengthening of otherwise useless organs. The sensation is a pure one, not bogged down in idle thoughts to be repressed and reorganized, not something the inhabitant has encountered post-possession before. A certain satisfaction hums through its soul, and it curls itself around the base of its host's skull, gently stroking nerve endings to life, exploring the limits of its new home.

A shiver of excitement runs through both host and hosted, one or maybe both readjusting the clothing on their shared body, adapting to the quicksilver thrill of joint knowledge, of the dawning realization that this host knows how to take the inhabitant home. A quick ruffle through this one's memories and it has a destination; a picture held in its forebrain of a featureless plain flanked by mountains, snow falling on a weathered grey building, host to a deeply-buried secret, well-housed at the end of a steel hallway, behind a solid enumerated door.

This host even knows the number to look for. The inhabitant allows for a smug smile, sure in the sense that it has made a good choice; better to use this one than discard it. As a reward, the inhabitant ghosts its fingers over the persistent ache and throb, well-satisfied in how easily its fire is coaxed all the higher.

***

The journey is simple, yet the wait almost unbearable. Time has telescoped, stretching further out in front of it now than it ever did in all the long years it and the craft have been held apart. The inhabitant is irritable, impatient, and pushes its host more than it should, not satisfied until it has used all this body's resources, its wits and wiles, not until the inhabitant has had it crawl on top the craft to where long-forgotten patterns can be learned anew.

The host is exhausted, sweated and showing signs of hunger and thirst, pushed to the limit and beyond. Its time is almost up, of that the inhabitant is certain, and yet through it all, the thrill, the arousal at experiencing such twined, twinned presence waxes and wanes without dissipation. If it had more time, the inhabitant might take pleasure in this host, enjoy the myriad sensations, the actions and reactions so easily provoked in something so corporeally-bound. But more than experience, the inhabitant needs reconnection, and so it is a simple matter to force muscles to contract, setting the right reflexes in motion to disgorge hosted from host.

The body shudders, heaving as its throat opens and closes, a physical expulsion of a secondary soul. The host is wound tight, a rush of adrenaline making each nerve sing in tune, each muscle seize and tremble. Saliva, mucus and tears provide a slick pathway as the inhabitant exits, but not before a tremor rolls through in waves, hips snapping forward, pleasure pushing past pain.

As it slithers through the spiral, the coil calling it home, it notes ever so distantly a muted moan exhaled into air. If it still had a mouth to move, it would have curved in a smile; how odd that such a simple joining could achieve such a strange release.


End file.
